I'm From Iowa, I Only Work In Outer Space
by Fear My Butterfly Army
Summary: James T.Kirk. Captain of the USS Enterprise. Hero of the Federation, Poster Boy of Starfleet- Meet the man behind the curtain.
1. Photograph

I'm from Iowa. I only Work in Outer Space

_Chapter 1: Photograph_

OoOoO

Jim grew up with a framed photo of his father, dressed to the nines in full Starfleet garb and grinning like a fool, hanging above his bed. His mom had put it there when they had first moved into the house. He had watched her do so from the doorway and, thinking she was alone, his mom had gently caressed the picture's face and smiled like she felt skin under her fingertips.

He grew to despise the smiling face in time, and at eleven he went in search of the most contradictory wall-ornament he could find. After a long traverse all the way into town and then back to the farm, Jim stood on his covers and stuck his newfound poster so that it hung over his father's face, obscuring it from view.

When he settled in to sleep that night, his dreams weren't filled with exotic planets and heroic captains like they had been for much of his younger years, but the determined visage of a man in the 1960s, an old rifle in one hand and a flag in the other. He, Jim decided, was much more of hero than the beaming man now hidden in shadows.

His mom had joined back into active duty with Starfleet only a year before, and her first off-world mission had started 2 months, 3 weeks, and 6 days ago. In her absence Frank had taken to ignoring Jim, twisting the unsteady camaraderie they had settled into for however brief a time into underlying distaste that drove the tension in the house to unbearable levels.

John, Frank's biological son, certainly agreed. He had left the house last night, in the middle of the night, and Jim doubted he intended to return.

It was with a displeased sigh that Jim got up for lunch on the 92 day of his mother's absence. He had opted out of breakfast in favor of huddling in his room with his coursework and absently pretending to do it while his mind drifted. Now, though, his stomach was grumbling and he hurried down the stairs to the kitchen quietly, knowing that if he was lucky at all, Frank was tinkering away at the classic Corvette in the garage, hoping to fix it up well enough that it would be worth a hefty sum.

It appeared that he was more than lucky, though, because Frank was completely absent when he reached the main floor. There was a distinct lack of notification, but Jim was certain the man had run to town to get booze or car parts or both.

Quite happy, Jim ordered the replicator to produce a sandwich and, once he had it in hand, settled down at the table to eat it.

Frank had left the mail scattered across the surface and Jim found it imperative that he shove them into further disorder so as to have room to set his plate down. The letters jostled and a couple fell to the floor. Uncaring, he munched at his sandwich and wished adamantly for his mom's home-cooked meals.

As he finished up the meal, Jim decided to be nice for once and stooped down to grab the fallen letters. He collected them into his hands and as he stood, absently read the heading.

Then, double-taking, he read it again.

Jim's jaw clenched and his eyes flashed. The hand that was holding the letters clutched tightly around them, crumpling the paper. He straightened completely and cast his eyes about for one particular thing. When he found it, the letters dropped from his grasp and fluttered to the ground, carried by the wake of his swift movements.

He crossed the room and, from the counter, grabbed a shiny set of keys.

The garage was kept in order. Jim hardly ever entered it, seeing as this was where Frank most often haunted, but this was an exception.

"Garage door, open." The heavy door groaned and groused, but as if sensing Jim's fury, it carried about its business swiftly and left the way clear.

Jim had often been teased by his classmates about his size, so when he gets into the front seat of the old Corvette he has to pull the seat all the way forward to even begin to reach the pedals. With a huff of half-satisfaction and half-rage Jim rammed the key into the ignition and decided the stick probably meant something. He experimented until the handle lined up with the 'D' and the car began rolling.

A grin split his face and, without thought, he slammed down on the accelerator.

The car jumped and hurtled forward, gaining speed rapidly. The windows were already rolled down and the wind rushes through Jim's hair, violently whipping it in all directions. It's the most alive he's ever felt and pure adrenaline seems to have replaced his blood.

The wheels ate up the miles and he only passed one car on his way, the road being of the dirt variety that very few people had use for. His face split by a ridiculous grin that flooded his senses and he couldn't help but press down harder on the gas. Maybe he could just keep going forever; escape this dead-end family and go somewhere far away, like Sam had with his boarding school.

But he didn't want boarding school, or _military school_, like Frank wanted to send him to. The thought of the letter just fueled his rush, making him press down harder. The speedometer inched higher: 60, 70, 80…

The call came abruptly, and it was instinct to answer it, though it made the young driver swerve dangerously.

Frank's voice filled the speakers, raving and shouting. Jim could hardly hear it above the sound of the wind rushing in his ears, but the voice is enough to have him up in arms, so he shut off the call and, in brief curiosity, presses yet another button.

The roof began to lift and, _WHAM, _the wind took it and carried it away. Jim turned a frantic glance back at it, but a self-satisfaction filled him and he turned back to the front in time to swerve away from the field on his right side.

_Find a new god damn roof, Frank._

Up ahead a boy was walking and Jim recognized him instantly. He passed too quickly to stop, but sneer was in his call as he shouted a sarcastic greeting to his step-brother.

He felt amazing; like a renegade cowboy from back in the old days. He could barely see over the wheel and his foot was pressed as hard as it could be on the gas, but he felt like a hero and a rebel all at the same time. Triumphing over Frank. Triumphing over stupid, useless Iowa.

The cop was a surprise, because what the hell would he be doing out on this road, anyhow? Frank must have made the call, and that just pissed Jim off. Still maintaining his ridiculous grin, he hung a sharp right, kicking up dirt and nearly making himself part of the door with the inertia. The cop followed and he slouched lower to press more firmly on the gas. He was a dead man anyways.

He saw the cliff soon enough to stop, but something in him identified the opportunity and keept his foot on the gas. The ledge seemed impossibly jagged and grew closer with every second that passed. Jim's breath caught and his eyes widened and he still, throughout it all, held his exhilarated smile.

He thought about staying in the car, an inclination he would keep to himself for the rest of his life. But for just a second he thought of the wonderful rush of being completely weightless, completely alone, and completely out of control, all at his own discretion.

It passed though and, just as the car began to fall, he skittered from it and grappled for the edge.

It's a blur of terror and regret and triumph, but mere moments later Jim stood, windblown and unbent, in front of the robotic cop.

A cocky smirk filled his face, "Is there a problem, officer?"

The joke went over the metal head. "Citizen, what is your name?"

Jim's grin faltered, but his posture didn't, and when he was again composed, but this time of a goofy beam, he was reminded that Frank's not his father, and Frank's not a hero, but maybe, just maybe, someone can be.

"My name is James Tiberius Kirk!"

That night, he took down the poster and left it in the trash.

OoOoO

**A/N: So, been done before? Yes, but I was hoping for an original sort of spin on it. And I thought it would tie my previous story more with the movie, seeing as this is all the same universe (insert blatant promotion for **_**A Man Too Twofold to be Forgotten **_**here). Also, it is kind of establishing the Kirk I'm intending to use for the rest of this collection.**

**And, yes, this will be a collection of one-shots, all tied together to relate in a nice fanfiction-shaped package for all of you lovelies out there who desire to know what I think about our favorite starship captain and his childhood. Fair warning, though; I'm not fully intending to put these in order. I am, however, fully intending to also tie in a couple similarities to **_**TOS,**_** which I have taken upon myself to watch completely through. It won't be anything people who haven't seen the show will wonder about, though, so not to worry.**

**Note; the letters are probably the most ridiculously illogical and far-fetched thought to crop up in my mind ever (Okay, that's an exaggeration), but I had to make it work somehow. Plus, I doubt everyday people used PADDs to send letters and they probably just use technology, but that's boring anyhow. PADDs are too much like the offspring of a clipboard and an official document for my tastes anyhow.**

**Along formerly discussed lines, though, these one-shots can be read however you like: individually, as a story, in order, or completely in disarray. Whatever tickles your fancy.**

**Have a great day, and don't forget to leave me some thoughts! ******


	2. Lizzie

_Chapter 2: Lizzie_

OoOoO

The first time Jim fell in love, he was twelve. Her name was Lizzie Keane and she, in Jim's opinion, was the prettiest girl in school. Her hair was a fine golden blonde and her eyes wide and blue as the sky. His thoughts wrote love poems involuntarily when he saw her smile and those metaphors they talked about in literature class came very much into use.

They shared two classes, their first and their last. Jim was satisfied with that, because he both started and ended his day with her in his sights. As they were seated by alphabetical order, she was always right in front of him, and the smell of her lavender shampoo made him lightheaded and covered his thoughts in lovey-dovey fuzz.

His mom first noticed because Jim stopped skipping school.

Lizzie had transferred in late because her mother had been chosen to manage the new restaurant in town and they had been forced to move immediately. Two weeks after her transfer in, Jim came home to a pacing Winona Coleman.

His mother was wringing her hands and saying what looked to be some self-motivational chant under her breath, but when he entered she ceased all movement and plastered on a brilliant smile. "Jimmy!" He voice was a bit breathless with nerves, and Jim's forehead creased in confusion. "Can we—why don't you have a seat? We'll talk a bit. Just a bit."

Jim, in all his infinite prepubescent knowledge, couldn't find a reason for his mother's odd behavior. In the interest of finding and answer, he did as she asked and seated himself rigidly on the edge of the couch. Was he in trouble? He couldn't think of a reason why. There had been no recent tests to have failed, no cars to have crashed, and Frank was the next town over for the week for the farmer's market, so it couldn't be him.

"Uh, so…" His mom tugged at her hair, like she always did when trying to figure out how to word something Jim might not like. This was how she had acted when she had told him about Frank's proposal. Obviously, life as Jim knew it was about to end. "I've uh, noticed you're… _behavior_ as of late." At Jim's ruffled look of offended confusion, Winona quickly amended her statement, "That's not to say it's been _bad, _per say. Just… different."

There was an awkward pause.

"Is there a point we're trying to get to, Mom?" Jim felt vaguely annoyed at this exceedingly odd display.

That statement had encouraged a scowl from his mother, though, so he counted it as a win.

"I just wanted to make sure—" here she took a deep breath, like one about to plunge into a particularly cold body of water, "I'll just say it plain; you're not depressed, are you?"

Silence.

"Because if you are, Jimmy, that's okay. You can tell me. I mean, it's not okay, but it's okay. We can deal with this. I mean, that's what psychologists are for, right? So it's not alright, but it's okay. You can tell me."

Jim wasn't sure why _now _of all times his mom thought he would start sharing things with her, because they had never been very chatty before, but he honestly was puzzled. It took deliberation, but finally he decided to be completely honest with her. "What the hell, mom? I'm not freakin' depressed!"

Winona looked monumentally relieved. "You're not? Oh, good. I mean, I looked it up and all, and it says that depression is very common in teenagers and I know you aren't one yet, but you've always done things ahead of schedule. But, you're not so this is fine. You're fine. Good, you scared me." The blonde woman collected herself and stood, turning towards the kitchen. "Dinner's at six. Go do your homework."

And that was that.

Still, though, Jim was finding it harder and harder to ignore the fluttering feeling in his gut in the first and sixth hours of each school day. Lizzie, quite simply, was driving him mad. Which, the then _very _determined Kirk decided, just _would not do._ Because Kirk's were manly men and heroes, and heroes always got the girl. Sam had told him that.

So, in respect to Sam's suave days back in Iowa, stories from which he had shared countless times with his younger brother in the confidence only _real _brothers truly understood, Jim set himself on a course that would kill the stupid butterflies in his digestive tract once and for all.

He had planned it all quite well, if he did say so himself.

On the chosen day (a blistery Friday in November) Jim waited until his sixth period teacher, who was an old, oblivious hag, to get into her lesson enough that he could escape unnoticed. In the hallway, he swiftly identified the closest fire alarm and, with the utmost stealth, approached it.

He waited, listening for approaching faculty. Then, when the coast was surely clear, he clutched the handle tightly and _pulled _as hard as he could.

Near instantly a shrill ringing exploded in the school. Students and teachers alike rushed from the classrooms in haphazard lines, hurrying to escape the now vastly more dangerous building. Smirking, Jim allowed himself to be swept away in the tide.

Outside the wind blew cold, sweeping across the Iowa plains and farmlands and dragging the dirt into the air. Students huddled together tightly in packs and teachers shouted above the howling to identify their giggling charges.

Jim found Lizzie easily enough, and he walked right up and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned, and her luminous blue eyes had his throat instantly seizing. He fought through it, in the name of preserving Kirk pride, though, and pushed out his planned line. A profound. "I'm going to kiss you."

Lizzie's face creased, maybe against the wind and maybe in confusion, because Jim could barely hear his own words before they were swept away by the air. All the same, Jim wasted no more time on useless discourse and instead pulled Lizzie by the shoulders and firmly planted his mouth against hers.

It was short; almost painfully so, and years later when he is much more experienced he will reflect on the blatant lack of skill, but in that moment it was the most wonderful thing the young Kirk had ever experienced.

Then and there, Jim decided that he liked girls. Oh, yes, he liked girls _very much._

**A/N: Not much to say, besides I forgot to disclaim last chapter. So for the duration of the story, I ask you to please remember that I own no part of Star Trek, whether it be the latest movie or the original series or a Spock action figure. Literally, I own NONE of Star Trek. **

**Also, reviews will be greatly appreciated and the ones from this past chapter certainly were. If you are an anonymous reviewer and therefore received no reply from me, I extend to you my deepest gratitude and adoration for your kindly remarks. You are wonderful people. Also, I extend a 'thank you' to everyone who added me or my story to your alerts and/or favorites. And to those of you who just read and do neither (though I do encourage both actions).**

**Live long and prosper! **


	3. Identity

_Chapter 3: Identity _

OoOoO

Jim's mom was seeing ghosts again. Her eyes had darkened to the brooding tone of a woman lost in the memories of her past and she had taken to avoiding her son whenever possible.

The young boy just counted himself lucky she had gone so long between the most recent spells. It had been nearly five months since the last time she had looked at him like he was someone other than her youngest son.

Something like a memory.

Jim shuffled his feet in their sneakers and frowned down and his clenched fist, the other mechanically holding his fork. The T.V. cast an odd glow around the darkening room, lighting up his mom, John, and Frank's faces and making them, in Jim's opinion, look like zombies. It was on mute, though, in respect for the dinner they were soldiering through awkwardly, so the only noises were the cling of forks and knives on plates.

The door opened, and in spilled the most cheerful member of their household. Sam came with lots of noise, as he usually did, and plopped himself down in the seat next to Jim. The younger Kirk crinkled his nose at this, getting a distinct whiff of sweat and dirt. "Heya, family!" Sam ran a n appraising gaze over the pasta dinner, "God, I'm starved." He then began piling food onto his plate.

Sam's entrance had broken the silence, and now his mom found her voice to start a conversation. "How was practice?"

Shrugging, Sam swallowed down his bite of food. "Fine. David wasn't there, so we had to use Mikey as our goalie, so we didn't practice our shots much. Kid couldn't block a ball if it was aimed straight for him." He grinned, then, letting his mom know he meant nothing by the comment.

Still, she frowned with a bit of disapproval, though Jim could see the amusement behind her eyes. "Of course. And school?"

"Boring," Sam snorted, "but it's not like I'll be here much longer, anyhow, so it doesn't matter."

This seemed to sadden Winona a bit, and she turned her questioning instead to her husband's son. "And you, John? How was school?"

John shrugged and muttered something noncommittal.

Frank chose this moment to break in. "Well, you got any idea what you're plannin' to do, Jonathan? Sam here's got it figured. You should start thinking more like him."

There was uncomfortable silence as John tried to formulate an answer that wasn't 'I have no fucking idea', which Jim knew very well was what he wanted to say and would have, were it not for his father's intimidating girth.

"I'm going to be a starship Captain."

It was that Jim was a stupid kid, because he knew damn good and well what effect his words would have on the conversation, but he was sick of Frank and his mom and the whole world ignoring him, and if he thrived on anything, it was attention, good _or _bad.

Once the sentence was completed, the youngest at the table found all eyes on him. A strangled sort of noise came from his mom's throat and the three males all held a look of incredulity. Sam, however, quickly recovered to an expression of disapproval, like he knew exactly what Jim was doing.

Winona shoved her chair from the table and stood, striding across the dining room to face the front door. One hand waved uselessly in the air, as if searching out for a support to hold onto and the other cupped her mouth, holding back whatever she meant to say.

Sam was good and ready to say something to his little brother about not being an idiot when their mother spoke.

"You ever say that again—" she paused, to collect herself, and when her voice came back it was no longer trembling but forceful and even, maybe, a little bit threatening, "You ever say that again, James Tiberius, and I swear to God I'll put you out on the street."

Not that he was going to admit it or anything, but that _hurt. _Jim scowled and shoved away from the table himself, standing and taking his plate to the counter. He dropped it with a loud clatter and spun swiftly, bypassing his mother and storming out the front door.

On the porch he paused, meeting the solemn eyes of Winona Kirk. He whispered his words so low he wasn't even sure she had heard them, but all the same they needed to be said.

"I'm not Dad."

Then he turned his back and walked away.

**OoOoO**

**Okay… exceedingly short, but I couldn't add more. I loved the end. Maybe a continuation next chapter? I already have a separate one started, so lemme know if you guys think YES to that question.**

**Anyhow, thanks to all you readers/people who added me to various lists. Though I was a little disheartened by the lack of reviews… You guys want to just drop a little word for poor old me?**

**Have a lovely day!**


	4. Starlight

_Chapter 4: Starlight_

_Warning: this is a continuation of Chapter 3. If you haven't read that (seeing as I said they don't have to be read in order in my initial author's note), you might want to._

OoOoO

The stars winked quite happily at the solemn boy seated beneath them. The sky was beautiful, like fine black silk speckled with diamonds, and the moon glowed with reflected sunlight, casting the Iowa fields beneath with a soft blue.

Jim leaned against the old ratting stable wall, curling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. He didn't look at the sky, rather staring across the empty land and seeing something quite different.

From the side, where in the distance a lit up farmhouse could be seen, approached a figure. Sam's eyes found his little brother, and he slowly came to sit down beside him.

That stayed silent for a time, the stars and the echoing call of crickets hanging like conversation between them instead. The night was unusually clear, and Jim could almost imagine he was breathing in the oxygen of somewhere else, somewhere far away from his family.

"Why'd you follow me?"

Sam gave him a look that said it should be obvious. "Why'd you say that?"

Playing ignorant, Jim shrugged, "Say what?" Then, seeing Sam's expression, he sighed and answered, "It's true."

"You want to enlist?"

Jim shrugged, then shook his head. "No. I hate Starfleet. _We _hate Starfleet."

"Who's 'we'?"

Pausing, Jim thought about that. "Mom. Me. You."

Sam chuckled without humor. "I don't hate Starfleet."

That surprised Jim. "You don't?"

"Starfleet didn't kill Dad," Sam sighed, "If you're going to hate anyone, hate the Romulans."

Silence fell across them then and Jim took the time to lie down on his back so he could stare up at the sky. Sam did the same beside him, lying so that their arms pressed together.

Jim could feel Sam's shrug. "She knows you aren't him."

"Then why does she _look _at me like I'm him?"

"She misses him. And Frank," Sam snorted, "Frank doesn't even get close."

"Why does she stay with him?" Then, "I hate him."

"He's an asshole," he agreed, "but Mom needs someone to take her mind off Dad."

Quiet.

"Did he love her?"

Sam said nothing. Then, at length, "More than anything."

"And you?"

There was a longer pause, and this time when Same spoke his voice trembled, "More than anything."

"…and me?"

Turning to face his brother, Sam ruffled Jim's hair and got to his feet, looking up at the starts then down at his little brother, who had gotten up onto his elbows. He grinned crookedly, "More than anything but your bigger and better brother."

Then he took one last glance at the stars and walked back towards the house.

After a pause, Jim scrambled to his feet and followed. "Sam!" the older boy paused and waited for Jim to catch up. "You do realize that was a total girl moment, right?"

"Yeah, I do. Thanks, Jamie." Sam rolled his eyes.

"No, seriously," Jim insisted, "You were about to full on hug me back there. I could tell."

Sam pushed his little brother. "Well, you tell anyone and I'll deny it."

Jim nodded, "Of course. Wouldn't want to mar your masculinity by spreading around that you initiate Lifetime moments."

"Damn straight," then, "But you totally started it, not me."

As Sam sped his walk and slipped into the house, Jim scowled. "I did not!"

**OoOoO**

**A/N: Not sure I liked this very much. Tremendously short as well. -sigh- Oh, well… Next chapter should be up sooner than this one. I already have it finshed. And, fair warning, it is much MUCH heavier in subject.**

**Enjoy your day!**


	5. Desperate

_Chapter 5: Desperate_

_Warning: The subject matter in this chapter is more than a bit heavy. Just thought you might want to know before hand._

OoOoO

Jim Kirk desperately wanted to cry. More desperately than anything he had ever desired in his life, actually.

He couldn't, though; he needed to stay focused. His uncle had told him that there was a transmitter in the basement, and he needed to get it. Needed to send a signal. Needed to get help.

He slid into the basement and let the door swish shut behind him before turning and inputting the locking code. Then he turned and carried on down the stairs into the belly of the basement.

The lights were weak at best as he went to work looking for the transmitter. A loud bang from above made him jump a mile. He vaguely heard his aunt's voice and his uncle's terse retort, though the words were too distorted to understand.

Shaking his head and trying to block out the sounds, he ruffled through drawers and shelves quietly as possible.

There was another bang and all fell silent. Then, sounding tinny and muffled through the walls, came the broadcast that had been looped over and over and over for the last three days.

Jim had come to live with his aunt and uncle nine months ago, after he had driven his mother and step-father beyond their limits. Aunt Marie (his father's sister) and Uncle Dave, who had always been fond of Jim, had been trying to get Jim to come live with them for years, anyhow. It had all been going wonderfully until a week ago, when the workers who distributed rations amongst the colonists had opened the storehouses to find over half of their food supply destroyed by a fast-acting fungus.

Pleas for more rations had been sent out to the nearest Federation planets, begging for more rations, and the nearest had instantly responded. Unfortunately, they needed a month to make it here, and there was only enough food left for a week, maybe another half should some go without for a few days.

Panic had spread across the planet, and the governor had disappeared into conferences.

Then, three days ago, Governor Kodos had sent out a broadcast with his solution. There were eight thousand Earth citizens on Tarsus IV, and in order for the survival of any of them, four thousand would be executed.

Now Jim was searching for a transmitter, in the hopes that should he get a signal to the starships that are much nearer than their food. Starships that could stop all of this.

Voices upstairs alerted him to the situation at hand, and Jim turned his search from the transmitter to somewhere to hide.

"James Kirk!" the robotic voice of the Tarsus IV police called, "James Kirk, you are ordered to present yourself for placement in your proper group."

Translation: You need to go figure out whether you're allowed to live or not.

Shaking his head, he looked harder for the transmitter. They would find him, wherever he hid. They were already working on the basement door's lock. He needed to get out that message before they could take him away.

He found it beneath a stack of blankets in the corner and hurriedly set it up on the floor, looking for the on switch. It took precious time, but eventually he found it. He hit buttons, just like his uncle had told him, and lowered his mouth to speak into the mouthpiece. "This is James Kirk on the Earth colony Tarsus IV. Please help us. Please, Governor Kodos has ordered an immediate—"

"James Kirk, you are ordered—"

"—execution of four thousand—"

"—to present yourself in your---"

"—colonists effective immediately. Please—"

"—proper group."

Hands, strong and rough, grabbed Jim around his middle and dragged him from the transmitter. Jim thrashed around, but the arms held strong and he was carried up the stairs and out of the front door, towards an enormous shuttlecraft that hovered outside of the house.

From the other houses in the neighborhood more colonists were being escorted to the shuttle, police at their backs.

The ride was silent. Jim didn't know where his aunt and uncle were and couldn't find it in him to search them out.

He felt nothing.

They came to a stop and the doors were flung open. Colonists poured out, twenty of them to each craft, and police robots escorted them to the capital building. To either side, all along the lawns, more shuttlecrafts deposited their humans like cattle.

The room they were left to wait in was enormous, and in it were thousands of people. Panicked voices rose loudly, echoing of the walls. Around him, people were crying and yelling and praying.

Jim was silent, back pressed to the wall. He listened only to his own breathing, making sure it was even, measured. His eyes were fixed on the loudspeaker above them.

As it stared, it cracked to life, commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

"This is Governor Kodos. Should your name be read, you will be escorted to your next destination. Anna Akers, Muna Abdou, David Abraham,…"

He couldn't take his eyes from the speaker, as if that was the face of the man speaking. _Are these the survivors or the sacrifices? _His breathing gradually sped as he listened.

"…Dana Baily, Connor Baily, Arcilla Ballin, Arden Balmer, Ronald Barker, Jos Bieber, Edward Borek…"

The sobbing had started again, from various people, but overall it was astoundingly quiet in the room. Kodos' voice echoed in their ears.

"...Keving Daas, Loren Dahlberg, James Dahlberg, James Defrancisco, Sherwin Devorkin, Estella Dollahan, Arthur Enns…"

He wanted to listen only to his breathing, to be soothed by the sound of air entering and leaving his body, but the names of each person called brought him closer to the 'J' of Josselyn, his aunt and uncle's name, and the 'K' of Kirk.

"…Diana Finlay, Murphy Flanagan, Agatha Flanagan, Davis Flanagan, Benita Fleck, Jeff Forberg, Jeffery Freers, David Fyr…"

Robopolice were traveling the room, finding the colonists called easily enough, and pulling them from the room, whether they go willingly or not.

Screams and sobs were growing. Their volume was somehow muted, though, by the growing list of names.

"...Arden Gaerte, James Galaski, James Galasso, Peter Garnavich, Armand Genovesi, David Germaine, Amber Gilliam…"

Someone was tugging on Jim's arm, asking him something. He didn't move. Didn't answer. Names, thousands already, had passed through his ears.

Then came those close to his family, and his focus sharpened.

"…James Johnson, Jeff Johnson, Janice Johnson, Jay Johnson, Pyfer Johnathan, Dennis Jose, John Josephine, James Joshick, Rohit Joshi, Ernie Josiph, David Josselyn, Marie Josselyn…"

Jim shook his head, finally tearing his eyes from the speaker. His world narrowed, vision tunneling on the devastated faces of his aunt and uncle as they solemnly followed the police, hand in hand, holding each other close.

Tremors laid siege to his limbs, overtaking them and reaching from there deep into his core.

He almost wished… wished that he would hear his own name. That he would be able to end this agony of having seen his family led away to their death like the cattle he'd helped slaughter for meat back in Iowa.

"…Takashi Kimura, Lindsey Kintner, Barbara Kintzele, Christopher Kintzele, Roger Kipling, James Kirk…"

But when it came, he was screaming inside.

The police gripped his arm tightly and Jim stumbled a bit before thrashing, determined to get away. This list wasn't the survivors. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did. He was cattle. He was a sacrifice, compensation for the survival of others. He was too young to die, too young to lose everything.

He was only thirteen.

With a sudden determination to survive, Jim began thrashing and jerking in the police's grip, clawing and kicking and punching and doing whatever he could to escape.

A one-armed grip around his middle pulled him tight against the body of the robot and stilled any and all movement.

In the robot's other hand was the arm of another boy mere years older than Jim himself and the two were dragged to a room much smaller than the last. He shoved them inside and closed the door.

Silence.

Jim stumbled and fell against the wall, his breathing becoming short and stuttered.

A hand rested gently on Jim's shoulder and he turned abruptly to face the boy who had been dragged in with him. "Tom Leighton," he introduced.

"Jim Kirk," he whispered, flicking his eyes to the door as it opened and admitted a few more people.

Tom nodded, leaning on the wall. "How old are you?"

"Thirteen." Jim was still shaking, and even more desperately than before he wanted to cry.

Again, Tom nodded. "You ever been somewhere interesting?"

Shaking his head, Jim shrugged, "Just Iowa."

"Iowa?" Tom grinned, "Like on Earth? Kid, I'm jealous. Been stuck colony-side all twenty years. What makes Iowa 'just Iowa'?" At Jim's frown, he pressed, "Really, Jim Kirk, I wanna know. I've never been to Earth, you see, and I need to know what are the good places when I do."

Smiling a little, Jim thought about it. "It's flat. And hot. And boring. Just lots and lots and lots of fields everywhere you go. And the houses are all old fashioned, because they're all like a thousand years old."

Laughing, Tom nodded, "That old, huh?"

Now that he had started, he couldn't stop thinking about Iowa. "Yeah, but the sky is the best part, because it's all open and blue and at night you can see the stars and everything."

He would have kept going, but the door on the far side of the room opened, and this time, rather than another colonist being escorted in, a tall, important-looking man entered. Behind him was a group of robots, all holding phasers.

Jim felt a sob rising in his throat, but he swallowed it down and steadied himself. Like his Dad, he was going to face death head on.

Even as he steadied himself, though, Tom stepped forward a bit and edged in front of Jim. His hand came backwards for a moment, resting on the younger boy's arm. Jim got the message, and the lump in his throat grew.

Kodos was an intimidating man, especially in his military best. He had been a general before joining politics and every bit of him read that. When he spoke, his voice was determined and solemn.

"The revolution is successful. But survival depends upon drastic measures. Your continued existence is a threat to the order we have restored; your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. I, therefore, have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered, signed Kodos, governor of Tarsus IV."

The speech was practiced. Like a recording. It made Jim feel worthless and insignificant, as if his death was only a conduit for more important people to contribute to the world. His hand reached forward and tangled in Tom's shirt, gripping tightly, and then he buried his face into the curve of his defender's spine, trembling violently.

Staying there, he felt the shaking that had overcome Tom as well and somehow their shared terror grew with companionship.

Jim heard the shuffling of robotic police as they stepped into place and lifted their phasers.

All fell silent for one solitary second.

And then the world shook and trembled and jerked, sending Jim to the floor. Phasers discharged, but he could tell this wasn't that. This was something else. Tom screamed in pain and everyone followed, shouting and yelling and shrieking at the top of their lungs.

The doors on either end burst open and in rushed people in primary colors, phasers raised.

The shaking stopped and Jim raised his head slowly, taking in their saviors.

Starfleet officers stood above them, jerking and twitching police at their feet, in full uniform. One by one, they attached their phasers to their belt and looked at the fallen colonists. "Don't worry," they said, "It's all over."

**OoOoO**

**A/N: Obviously, I took creative liberties, but the events that occurred on Tarsus IV did happen in the original timeline, and a thirteen-year-old Kirk was present for that as well. The way I see it, his trauma on this colony led to his obsession with doing what's right, and screw the rest came from this in the original Captain, and the AU one has the same philosophy, albeit in a more reckless fashion. **

**Thanks for reading! **


	6. Crimson

_Chapter 6: Crimson_

_Warning: Some foul language in this chapter from a rather angry set of freshmen..._

OoOoO

"Jim Kirk?"

"I don't have it."

Cocking her head oddly and a crease coming between her furrowed brows, Mrs. Elcott, Jim's Literature teacher, frowned. "You don't have the permission form?"

"That's what I said." Jim met her gaze, challenging the woman to say anything further about it.

"You do realize you're going to be given and alter—"

"Yeah," he cut in, "I know. I still don't have it."

The cause seeming hopeless, Mrs. Elcott turned to the next name on her list.

From somewhere behind him, Jim heard a whisper just loud enough to reach his ears. "That's cause your Mom went off-world to avoid seeing her shitty son. Can't sign papers from another planet."

Jim's whole body stiffened, his fists clenching beneath the desk. A glance at their teacher showed that she was paying little attention, and he turned slightly so as to more directly address the boy sitting behind him. "Fuck you, Johnson. At least my mom isn't sleeping with any guy who'll look at her."

Chrs Johnson was a big kid, especially for the freshmen they were, with a thick neck supporting a thicker head. His face scrunched in anger. "You wanna say that again, Jerk?"

"I think you heard me just fine."

If Mrs. Elcott hadn't interrupted just then, Jim was sure that he would have been making a swift trip to the office, broken nose in hand, but as it was she chose just then to get on topic, starting with Johnson's opinion about whatever book they were reading.

With one last glare at Jim that said he was in for a painful future, Chris answered. "Uh… Pip was really, uh… really stupid about that, because he thought the chick—"

"Estella."

"—Right, Stellar, was a babe and was into him, but…"

But, God, was it worth it.

OOO

Later, it seemed, was just after school. Jim was leaning against the lockers, making eyes at a pretty blonde girl (Christie? Kelly? Cambre?...). She was laughing and had forgotten all about the books in her locker waiting patiently to be retrieved in favor of admiring his charm.

_And, _Jim thought, _she's a sophomore!_

"… so I was thinking, there's this place I know that's amazing. You can see like a million stars, and this Saturday's supposed to be a perfect night. Maybe you'd like to spend it with me?"

The girl laughed, brushing some hair out of her face and glancing coyly through her lashes. "Oh, I don't know."

Jim plastered on a bigger grin, "I'll even through dinner in. Come on, a little bit of pasta, some wine, a night under the stars," he waggled his eyebrows, "That's gotta be tempting."

Smiling and giggling a little, she shrugged, "Alright, I'll—" her voice stopped, and her eyes trailed to the hand that had landed roughly on Jim's shoulder.

Slowly, Jim reached up and removed the hand, dropping it. Then, he gave the girl (Christie…? yeah, Christie) a look that said he'd only be a minute and turned to face Johnson and two of his friends. "What's up?" he smirked, eyes flashing with a look that said he knew _exactly _what was up.

All the same, Chris clarified. "I owe you a beating."

Endeavoring to be as facetious as possible, Jim hitched his hip, crossed his arms, and sighed. "Oh, Christopher, you just don't get it, do you? Not to worry, I'll explain; You insult my mom, I insult your mom, and then we're done. Finito. Finished."

"I'll finish you—" Johnson lunged and Jim back away just out of range, smart-ass smirk still holding strong.

"That the best you can come up with?"

Seeming to rethink his strategy, Johnson straightened and composed himself, though his face was still colored with fury. "You know what, Kirk? I don't like you."

Jim rolled his eyes, "Big surprise."

"And what's more," Johnson continued, unperturbed, "You're family doesn't like you." As Jim stiffened, Johnson smirked, knowing he was getting to the smaller freshman, "I mean, your mom took a job off-world, your step-dad's the town drunk, one brother dropped out and skipped town and the other cut and ran to boarding school, and, best of all, your dad."

Jim's head snapped up and his eyes narrowed to slits, daring the other boy to go on. Every muscle in his body coiled, ready to lunge, and his breathing grew a little slower. His blood was pounding now, loud enough to bring a rushing sound to his ears.

"Your dad hated you so much that when he heard you were born just fine, he sent his ship into a collision course with the nearest solid object big enough to kill him."

Rage like he had never felt before filled Jim's veins. Not a second after the words were spoken, he was laying into Johnson with reckless abandon. His fists were hitting whatever surface they could find and his feet did the same. He felt cartilage give way beneath one hit and kept going.

Other hands were on him, yanking him viciously away from Johnson, who was simultaneously laughing and fighting back.

Jim lashed out, aiming kicks and elbows back at the two restraining him. He nailed one of them in the gut and the other caught him in the head with a fist, making Jim's vision blur. Another blow bent him in half, gasping for breath.

The red haze slowly faded as everyone stilled. Jim slumped and panted, trying to regain his breath, trying to regain his equilibrium. Across from him, Johnson, too, was being held back. Blood covered his face and soaked down into the collar of his shirt. His nose was twisted, obviously broken, and his lip was split.

For his part, Jim's face was going numb and the rest of his body thrummed with sharp pains that would turn to bruises. His mouth was filled with the coppery tang of blood.

Both stared at each other and Jim leaned forward slightly, spitting the blood in his mouth at Johnson's feet. "My dad's a fucking hero."

So he was definitely going to feel this in the morning. For several mornings, in fact. And that was besides the verbal lashings he was sure to receive.

But, damn, if it wasn't worth it.

**OoOoO**


	7. Waking Up

_Chapter 7: Waking Up_

OoOoO

It had been twelve months since Jim had been home. Twelve months since the eve of his eighteenth birthday, when he saluted the framed photo of his father above his bed, grabbed the essentials, and left Riverside in a cloud of dust kicked up by his motorcycle. Even so, he doubted his mom had yet to be informed, because Frank wouldn't care enough to tell her in any of his transmissions.

She was rarely home for this time of year, opting for missions specifically so she wouldn't have to feel guilty about not wanting to celebrate her youngest son's birthday. This year had been no exception, and with her gone that left only Jim and Frank anywhere near Riverside.

Now, though, only Frank was there. Jim was in Boulder, Colorado studiously avoiding any sort of PADD or computer. If he didn't receive any messages from his mom, well, then he wouldn't have to know whether or not she knew about him leaving. And if he didn't know, then he wouldn't have to feel guilty about it.

Not that he should—feel guilty about it, that is. He was legally an adult when he left, therefore fully capable of making his own choices.

He took a drink of the beer in his hand.

This was his choice.

"Jimbo!"

Turning, Jim locked gazes with a ragtag man in denim and vibrant red, the same as Jim himself was wearing. A grin graced his features as the man sat down beside Jim. Both had unkempt facial hair, Jim's the same dirty blonde as his currently overgrown hair and the other's a dark brown.

"Gunner," he greeted, nodding his head.

The man, Gunner, ordered a cheap beer. When it was set down in from of him, he smiled and took a sip like it was liquid gold. His eyes tracked Jim's to the curvy waitress a few tables away. "You still shacking up with that Persian girl?"

Smirking, Jim winked, "She was a little more than a 'girl', Gun. All woman.—but, no; she's back east now."

He nodded, took a slow sip of the beer.

Jim stopped watching the woman, turning his attention to the condensation gather beneath his bottle. After a moment of thought, he drained the rest of it and orderde a glass of Romulan Ale from the bartend.

"Another one, eh?"

Frowning, Jim turned a confused gaze to Gunner.

"Look, kid; I haven't known you that long, but I know a survivor when I see one," finishing his beer, Gunner nodded towards the Ale, "Finish that—I've got something to show you."

A bit confused, Jim did as he was told (for once) and the two men left the bar.

OoOoO

The field was huge. Jim hadn't even know there were still wild spaces this open anywhere on Earth—civilization had taken over most of the land as the population expanded into the wilder areas. Apparently not all, though, because this enormous scope of land was all tall grass and bugs.

Gunner set down his black tote after they had been walking for at least a mile. He then dropped beside it and settled down on his back, hand behind his head.

After a moment of uncertainty, Jim followed suit.

Inside the tote was a bottle of rum, which Gunner took a deep swig from and passed over to Jim. He did the same and passed it back. They sat in silence, drinking their thoughts, until a fuzz crept over their minds and loosened their tongues. It was Gunner who spoke first.

"I was a gunny on Archanis IV. Shot down my fair share of Kling scum, and saw my fair share of Feds get shot down, too. I was stationed there four years before I got to come home—I've still got buddies who've come and gone, probably sitting on that damn planet waiting for their target." Gunner propped himself up on his elbows, thought for minute, and then dropped back down to look up at the sky. "Nobody'll ever tell you this, but those bastards look as dead as humans once you've shot 'em."

Jim said nothing.

"I gotta tell you, though; I don't regret enlisting. Those creatures, they are brutal. Their prisoners don't come out intact, if they do at all. They know how to break a man—that's how they're winning up their right now. At least, on Archanis. They've got us stuck.

"I don't know where you came from, kid," Gunner grunted, "hell, I don't even know your full name. What I do know is that anniversaries aren't supposed to be spent in some random bed. They're s'posed to be drunk enough to forget, but solemn enough to remember."

"You're fucking drunk." Jim's voice comes out a little colder than he had intended.

Gunner snorted. "My life is fucking drunk."

Nodding, Jim sighed, repeating, "My life is fucking drunk."

"MY LIFE IS FUCKING DRUNK!" Gunner shouted, his voice getting caught in the breeze and carried upwards. When he took another breath, Jim did the same, and together they shouted, "MY LIFE IS FUCKING DRUNK!"

They both fell flat, their chests heaving and eyes bright. The only sounds were their heavy breathing and the echoing symphony of pure nature. After a moment, Jim let loose a laugh. Gunner chuckled, and waved his hands in the air.

"My middle name's Tiberius."

"Really?" The old sniper looked amused, "Shit, kid. No wonder you're all messed up."

Jim smiled with very little humor. Took another drink of the rum—the last vestiges of the bottle.

"I turn nineteen today."

"Happy Birthday, James Tiberius."

Jim didn't smile this time. "Thanks." He turned his face from the sky, examining Gunner's world-wearied profile. "Why'd you join the fleet?"

Gunner smiled wryly. "I was young and proud."

"And now?"

"I'm still just as proud. Not quite as young."

"I don't think I hate Starfleet." He sounded and guilty as he felt, and averted his eyes to the grass. He couldn't look at Gunner—he was a service man. He couldn't look at the sky—that's where his dad's life ended, where his mom escaped her ghosts and pretended these twenty years hadn't passed. "I should, but I don't."

"Shouldn't do _nothing_, kid. It's all you. You and your brain and your heart."

Jim thought about his mom. He thought about the time that he was eight and had come home from school crying because some kid had teased him and she had cleared the living room furniture to the side and taught him how to fight back. And the first time they had had a real fight, when he was fourteen, and she had let him scream and yell and throw things, and then when he was done and the tears came she had held him and rocked him like he was five years old.

"Where's you PADD?"

OoOoO

Winona Kirk hadn't bothered getting herself pretty that morning. Frank was away on some business thing or another, and she was still jet lagged from having just gotten back to Earth a week ago. She cradled a mug of tea between her hands and wondered, not for the first time, about her youngest boy.

That short shore leave five months ago was all too vivid. She had come home, expecting her grumbling now-adult son to greet her with a hug and a kiss, but it had only been her husband at the station.

It was hardly surprising that Jimmy had left, but it still stung that he had broken all contact. She was, admittedly, not the best mother, but even Sam sent her the occasional video message.

Trying not to think about it, Winona took her tea and settled onto the front steps with a news PADD.

The sound of crunching gravel broke her reading of an article on the blossoming relations between Earth and Dekker, a new Federation planet. She looked up, and the mug slipped from her fingers.

For a moment they were both frozen.

Then Winona jumped to her feet and rushed the distance, being met halfway by his already shaking body. They collided in a fierce embrace, her arms wrapping tightly around him and one hand grasping the back of his neck to pull him closer. His own arms enveloped her, and his head came to rest on hers.

"Mom." His voice was ragged, gasped through thick emotions.

"Oh, Jimmy."

They cried.

**OoOoO**

**A/N: Sorry it took so long. My brain decided "Oh, you don't need to write!" and kind of shut off. And then school started, which is just busy, so there you go.**

**Just so you know "gunny" is military slang for sniper. Thus, the name "Gunner". He's all made up, by the way. But I don't own any of the rest of this. Too bad, huh?**


	8. Walking School Bus

_Chapter 8: Walking School Bus_

OoOoO

Kirks didn't cry, Jimmy reminded himself. Kirks were brave, and Sam wouldn't cry about having to wait. Even if it had been, like, a _really _long time, and he was _really _hungry. _And _his butt hurt, from having to wait on the stupid curb.

But, all the same, Kirks didn't cry.

The sky was darkening, and Jimmy was feeling hungry enough that it had to be dinner time at least. It felt like days, though. All the other kids had been picked up by their mommy's, and Jimmy had promised his teacher that he would wait right exactly _here _for Frank, who had said he was on the way on the holophone when Mrs. Waddell had called, because she had to leave to go home for her kids.

It had been a _really _long time since then, though, and Jimmy was starting to think Frank wasn't going to come get him. Maybe Johnny had needed Frank to help him with homework or something and he had gotten distracted. Or maybe he had needed to stop by work real quick and was almost on his way. Or maybe—

Jimmy gasped, suddenly nervous—maybe he was hurt! Maybe he got in a crash and was in the hospital and felt bad because Jimmy was just sitting here, waiting!

Clamoring to his feet, Jimmy made an executive decision to go look for Frank. Maybe nobody had found him yet, and Jimmy needed to make sure. If he just headed home, then surely he would pass Frank no matter what, right?

Nodding his head, Jimmy grabbed his backpack straps and started walking.

His way home was made up of two-lane roads through fields of wheat. It wasn't too long in the car, so Jimmy figured that it couldn't be _much _longer walking.

Even if Frank had just forgotten, Jimmy would be home soon and he could just ask him to, please, not forget again. Frank would feel really bad, and maybe he would even buy him that new jacket that Jimmy had been asking for. Yeah, and then Johnny would feel bad, too, and not even steal Jimmy's ice cream next time they got some.

After a good amount of walking—definitely as long as the whole trip took in the car, he looked around to try and recognize how far he had come.

He frowned. All the fields looked the same. He couldn't tell if he was almost there, or still right next to the school. He'd just have to keep walking until he saw home, then.

As he walked, he thought of the song his kindergarten teacher last year had taught him. "_When I go to school, I like to walk and I'm no fool, with my friends I'm just fine, riding the Walking School Bus…"_

He kicked pebbles ahead of him, having a little impromptu soccer match against himself as he went, singing all the while.

It was getting even darker now, but Jimmy kept steadily onwards.

"…_who needs a car when it's not too far? Riding the Walking School…_school… riding the walking school bus…"

Frowning, Jimmy trailed off as his feet stuttered to a halt. He was _really _tired.

Tears sprang to his eyes without warning. He sniffled defiantly to keep them down and forced his aching legs forward a little more. He only went a few more steps before he was too tired to even _move. _He was so sick of _walking…_

Exhausted, Jimmy dropped to the ground on the side of the road and sat, his back leaning against the fence post. He bit his lips hard, but couldn't stop the tears that leaked out. He just wanted to be home! Sniffling, he pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them tightly.

It was nighttime when the sounds of wheels on gravel came to him.

Jimmy was too tired to look up. His head felt heavy, and he was nearly asleep anyways. But when the car slid to an abrupt stop only a few yards past him and then slowly rolled backwards, he glanced up.

Through the driver's window, Jim could see the scowling face of his step father.

The passenger door opened, and moments later Sam was sprinting around the car and sliding to Jimmy's side.

"Jimmy!" He gasped, pulling his little brother into a hug, "I'm so sorry, Jim!"

Saying nothing, Jim buried his face into his brother's shoulder and let himself be picked up. He was carried to the car, and somehow Sam managed to climb into the front seat without setting him down.

Once they were settled, with Jimmy curled up in his brother's lap and his backpack on the floor at their feet, Frank swung the car around and headed back home.

As he was falling asleep with Sam's fingers carding through his hair, he swore he heard Frank's voice.

"I'm sorry, kid."

**OoOoO**

**A/N: Two updates this close together? It must be the end of the world! **

**Anyhow, reviews be would be greatly appreciated. I didn't get many last chapter :(. Hopefully little Jim will be more well liked. **


	9. Searching

_Chapter 9: Searching_

OoOoO

The shuttle craft that brought them to Earth was large.

On it was Bones and Uhura and Spock and Sulu, all of them as silent as Jim himself.

No one spoke, actually, and the silence was louder than any conversation they could have. Each of them were numb, overwhelmed by the utter tragedy that had just swallowed so many lives.

When the craft landed, it was with a sigh of resolution.

Jim let everyone leave before him. Didn't even unbuckle himself until Spock, after giving him a nod that spoke of companions who had survived together, slid out of the door. Then he clicked the belt and gained his feet.

Once they were steady beneath him, he passed through the door and slid it closed behind himself.

OoOoO

The first moment he stepped onto land off of the shuttle; after two weeks of near drifting to get back home, after hours that felt like eternity filled with inexplicable tragedy—it was hard.

Aboard the ships that kept him far from home, Jim had felt distanced from the loss of three-fourths of his graduating class. He had felt sheltered from the genocide he had witnessed.

But here, on Earth, there were people that hadn't seen what he had—had felt the horror of losing so much so quickly. People who would try, but who would never understand like those on board had.

Here his companions of the past few weeks would disperse to mourn with their families, and he would be alone with his thoughts.

So stepping into that world, when all he really wanted was to sleep and eat and work millions of lightyears from there, was hard. And when he found his balance there and tried not to look as nauseated as he felt, he saw them all—his crew.

Well, he supposed not his crew anymore—not now that everything he had wanted was unattainable.

The crew of the Enterprise, though. All of them in the arms of their families, comforting and being comforted by those who were merely glad they were alive.

Bones, Jim could see, was holding his daughter like if he let go she would disappear and the solemn man, Jim's gruff best friend, had tears in his eyes.

Uhura was with who he could only assume was her mother and father, and Chekov was consumed by a crowd of sobbing women—sisters.

Jim had never felt so isolated.

His mother, he knew, would not come. This was all too hard for her—brought up too many memories. He understood. She hadn't spoken to him since he enlisted. And his brother—they hadn't spoken in even longer.

He turned his eyes from the reunions—he felt like an intruder of moments that were so profoundly private.

OoOoO

James Tiberius Kirk looked at himself in the mirror, but the reflection wasn't him.

It was a time machine—a portal glancing back to twenty plus years ago, when the man in the Starfleet dress uniform was married to the love of his life; young and in love with his wife and his job and his child-to-be.

It was a 'what if' of what might have happened had Nero never come, with his lightning storm and vendetta, destroying thousands of families and desecrating the man that was supposed to be a great Captain.

When Jim looked at himself, in his command gold and Captain's stripes, he felt numb. All the excitement that had swelled and overwhelmed him during the ceremony had taken him by storm and after the formalities were finished, he had disappeared to his dorm and sat on his bed and stared at the empty one across the room, where his roommate's personal belongings were waiting to be collected by his family.

He had seen his fellow cadets in the hallways and rec rooms, crying on each other's shoulders and sitting in solidarity, but he only wanted peace. He wanted to be somewhere where he could fall apart without losing face as Captain of the Enterprise.

The tears never came, though, and instead he had unpacked the uniform he had been given and had slipped it on as carefully as possible.

He had searched the glass, looking for the transformation he thought would happen—from irresponsible, reckless Jim Kirk, to Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise.

All he saw, though, was a shadow blurring his features into those of the past.

OoOoO

His things were packed.

He had remarkably few things for the three years he had spent in this room. Once all the superfluous items were gone, he was left with only a duffle of clothing and one framed photo.

His bed was, for practically the first time since he had received it, neatly made with its generic covers. Its twin across the room was the same.

Every other surface was bare. His roommate's family had come and gone while he had been away.

Jim sat on the floor, for some reason feeling it would be wrong to disturb the pristine neatness of the room. His back rested against the wall, across from the door, and he let himself stop thinking.

He felt nothing and everything all at once. Somehow it left him in emotional limbo, where he was waiting for…

… waiting for… who knows what. Something.

There was a knock at the door, but Jim didn't move.

He didn't want to open the door and have to be Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise right now. He just wanted to stay here, alone, where he could be Jim. At least for a little while. At least until he boarded his ship in a few hours.

The knock came again, but it was hesitant.

Silence.

The door slid open this time. In the gaping frame was the last person Jim would have expected. The shock sent him to his feet, and he stared at the familiar face.

"Hey, Jimmy," Sam whispered, looking tentative.

"Sammy," he gasped, voice strangled, "Sam." And he stepped forward almost involuntarily.

Sam, seeing this, moved swiftly and strode to meet his little brother, sweeping him into a bone-crushing hug.

Jim collapsed into the embrace, his fingers twisting into the back of Sam's shirt and his face burying into his shoulder.

They remained that way for a few moments, before both let go and stepped back, collecting themselves once again.

Appraising the uniform and the new man inside of it, Sam nodded his head. "You did good, Jim."

Jim smiled.

**OoOoO**

**Disclaimed. Please Review.**


	10. Like Home

_Chapter 10: Like Home_

_Warning: Language, because it's Bones and he's got a foul mouth. Especially where Jim's concerned._

OoOoO

Jim was a fucking nightmare.

Seriously, Leonard had no idea why he stuck around with the kid after that first disastrous shuttle trip. Maybe it was because after they had shared the flask of whiskey, Jim had started in on some ridiculous story about when he was living in Colorado and got into it with some bikers and Leonard forgot all about the fact that they were on a shuttle, for God's sake _(flying?whatthehellamIdoingflying?!)._

All the same, this friendship was not worth the trouble.

"I got to the bathroom for two minutes, Jim, _two minutes, _and you end up hitting on the one girl in there who's got a boyfriend the size of a Klingon. I don't know how the hell you survived long enough to get into the Academy, kid, because you're _insane, _you hear me?"

Jim probably didn't understand a word, on account of the alcohol slurring Leonard's words further into the slow drawl that came along with his Georgia roots. At least, he didn't give any indication of understanding. He was hanging off of Bones—Leonard (_Damn it—he has me calling _myself_ that ridiculous nick name, now!_) and singing some drinking song he probably learned in Iowa or Colorado or wherever the hell else Jim had lived.

"…and next time I won't save your ass, got it?"

Pausing suddenly, Jim gathered his own weight and moved a step away from Leonard so he could grab his shoulders. "Bones," he stated, solemnly, his break reeking of booze.

"Jim…?" Leonard's voice was in equal parts a question and a warning.

"You're a buzzkill."

Then, Jim released one of Leonard's shoulder and lowered the other hand to grab his upper arm and led him off in a seemingly random direction.

Leonard scowled. Buzzkill? Really? "Jim!" He growled, then louder, "Kirk! Where the hell are you taking me?"

His demand was ignored, and Bon—Leonard sighed in annoyance, tugging half-heartedly at his trapped arm.

"You're really not going to tell me?"

And yes, Leonard was irritated that he had to shout over the excessively rowdy crowd in the San Francisco streets tonight. Why were there so many people out on a Wednesday, anyway?

Speaking of, why was he out on a Wednesday?

Jim tugged his arm harder as he rounded a corner.

Oh, right.

They stopped, and Jim leaned over the edge of the sidewalk, waving down a cab. One stopped near instantly, a skill that Jim often bragged about, and the younger man released Leonard to step forward and ask something of the driver.

A moment later, he turned a grin on his friend, "Alright, let's go!"

Grumbling and scowling, Leonard got into the cab after his young companion, who was practically bouncing with excitement.

They drove for a long while, Jim chattering with both the driver and Leonard the whole way. The kid had endless amounts of stories—stories Leonard was positive couldn't all be true. They drove long enough that the city lights dimmed and trees began to rise up on either side of them.

Leonard frowned. He hadn't really traveled much beyond downtown and campus since he'd come to California.

Finally, they rolled to a stop in what Leonard thought was the middle of nowhere.

Jim thanked the cabby, handing him a good chunk of credits, and clamored out of the car, beckoning Leonard to come with him. Semi-reluctantly, he did.

The cab drove away, and left he and Jim in the near-darkness, with only the half-moon to light their way. Jim winked at him, and headed for the cliffs ahead of them.

Frowning, Leonard was thinking of simply letting the kid do whatever idiotic thing he had decided on, until he realized the Jim was trying to _climb _the wall. And succeeding.

At least, for now.

Panic gripped Leonard and he sprinted forwards, reaching up to grab at Jim.

The man was just out of his grasp, though, and Leonard felt his fear grow. "Jim, what the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Chuckling floated down to him, but Jim continued to climb, grasping onto the trees and rocks that came along to steadily push himself towards the top.

"Jim—James! You're going to fall! You're fucking drunk, kid!" Leonard knew he sounded as panicked as he felt, but couldn't bring himself to care.

Jim still ignored him.

Okay, now he was pissed.

Scowling something fierce, Leonard shucked his jacket, tying it around his waist, and began to climb after his idiotic friend. Someone had to keep the kid from killing himself.

After slipping, and scraping his hands, and ruining every piece of clothing he had on with tears and dirt and grass stains, Leonard got to the top, where he heaved himself over the edge and lay there, panting and wishing to God that he had never met Jim Kirk on that damned shuttlecraft and that he had just stayed back home in Georgia and found a job somewhere else in the state, or at least in the Carolinas.

When he finally pulled himself from his pity-fest to look around, he found Jim observing him with a fond grin."What?" he growled. Then, straightening his spine but still not standing, Leonard posed his question. "Where the hell are we?"

Jim chuckled, shrugging. "Sit up and look for yourself, Bonesy."

"Don't call me that," Leonard grumbled, pushing himself up. He looked around. To one side, he saw nothing—just endless black, from the ground up to the sky, where only the stars and moon pierced the darkness. Opposite, he saw the lights of San Francisco, like a cluster of stars on the horizon themselves.

Here, everything was muted. He couldn't hear anything but the faint crashing of waves.

It reminded him of home, where he had gotten Joanna and Jocelyn and bundled them into the car two Decembers ago and driven them out past the farms of their neighbors, out further than the two-, three-, four-acre lots to the farmlands that stretched for miles and miles and the trees that rose up like walls everywhere else had been cut to allow for crops. He had pulled out into the middle of one of the fields, one that probably was just a pasture in the daytime, and put both of his girls on top of the hood before climbing up himself.

Just like then, he lay back flat and looked up at the sky. And if he closed his eyes, he could almost see that meteor shower—the brilliance of the lights flashing across the sky. Feel Joanna's hands gripping his arm excitedly and giggling with delight.

When he opened his eyes, Jim was lying beside him, eyes open wide, staring at the stars and grinning like a child.

The kid couldn't know what he'd given Bones, what he'd done to ease that black fury and swallowed him inside when he thought of how far his baby girl was, how long it would be before he saw her smile. Bones—Leonard… Bones would take what he was given, though.

And if he couldn't see his daughter for the next couple of years, he had another kid to watch out for.

Maybe Jim wasn't so bad after all.

**OoOoO**

**Cheesey? Hell yes. But I'm a closet sap, so deal with it. And I adore Bones. Seriously. I wish he was real so we could bond over our mutual Georgian roots and crazy best friends, always getting us into trouble. **

**And I suppose if you want you could read this as pre-slash, or whatever, but I'll have you know I read Spirk and gen and write gen, because that's just me, and did not intend it that way because I think Bones and Jim are more like somewhere between brothers and father-son-esque. As in, Bones misses his daughter like crazy, and Jim's got Daddy issues, so they both kind of fall into these roles… but, I guess if you're all hardcore Jim/Bones, then go for it. I won't stop you.**

**Anyhow… please review! And, as always, I hope you enjoyed!**

**Oh, and Happy Late Thanksgiving you all y'all who celebrate it!!!**


	11. Fear

_Chapter 11: Fear_

_OoOoO_

Lately, Jim felt every moment of every day with perfect clarity. He felt the sun rise in the morning like it was part of his own body, lift up above the horizon to dance across the sky for all day long. He felt the clouds hanging and watching the sun, audience to its stunning pattern. The breeze was like his own breath, swooshing from his lungs and spinning into the air to twist and tango with the birds.

He felt the women that led him to their beds each night and went with him into the realms of what he had promised his mother he would be careful about. He felt their sighs and moans and their fingers raking down his bare back, leaving behind trails of red skin. Their teeth against his lips and neck. Their soft flesh rubbing against his.

He felt everything but himself.

His break left his body, but he couldn't feel it until it was on his lips. The women touched him and took him, but he felt nothing as they panted in the afterglow, chests heaving in tandem and limbs tangled together in the sheets, alcohol and sweat creating a sweet aroma in the air.

The emotions that had driven him through youth were gone. Poof. Presto; that's it. He was like a robot, cold and empty. Like something inside him had broken and he had lost the manual on how to fix it.

In the early mornings, he would mount his bike and start it up, riding off across the roads of Iowa, speeding to dangerous levels and hoping his heart would start to race and panic or fear would creep up his spine and overwhelm him.

Never, though. And he would skid to a stop and leave his bike on the side of the road while he screamed his lungs out in the middle of field, where no one could hear him and no one would know the hollow shell he had become.

He had tried—tried to think of when this had all happened—when it had gone wrong. Was it way back when he had set fire to the house baking a cake for his brother's birthday because him mom forgot? Was it the day she had picked him up from jail, the look on her face saying that she had lost her faith? Was it the day he had left home and found out that the world wasn't moms packing lunches and teachers giving second chances?

But his mind wouldn't go further, wouldn't find it. Wouldn't help him _fix it_.

Every night he would try, though; try to find that god damned manual and fix whatever the hell was wrong with him.

It always ended one of two ways—one with his pants down in some unfamiliar bed, or with his fist in some asshole's face.

This was no different. The bar was the same—claustrophobic, seedy, dirty, full of people just as lost and broken as he himself. He blended here, with these despicable examples of the human race.

None of the girls were pretty, though; all too drowned in cover-up to be anything but caricatures, and somehow Jim's body didn't feel up to another round.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and, slipping out of the bar, he held the screen up to see who was calling.

_Mom. _

Another day, maybe, when he could muster up the energy to pretend he was sad they hadn't spoken, sad her bastard of a husband had left, sad his brother was gone off to some big city without another thought.

The alcohol curled around his mind in a comforting embrace, and with that he started his bike.

He pulled out onto the road and sped up, pushing the old engine to the limits. His breath left his body and he went faster still, letting the wind shove his body to and fro, trying to force him from his seat. He held on tighter and forced the bike on.

Headlights, blinding and in his path.

Jim swerved, his bike sliding and crashing into the empty field on the side of the road. He flipped, spun, skidded, slid, landing yards from anything with his head spinning and his whole body numb of any sensation besides agony.

The stars swirled above him, brilliantly white against the black of night like headlights.

He stared up to them, as his breathing fell even. He felt pain, deep and bone-aching, in every orifice of his body. More than anything, though, his heart was battering against his rib cage, fighting to escape its prison with a furious determination.

Fear. Real emotion, seeping through his pores and crawling like spiders up his spine.

There, laying in the field he could hear the voices of whoever had been in that car, calling out to him. Saying they had called an ambulance. They sounded scared, terrified of what had become of him.

There, laying in the field, he laughed.

**OoOoO**

**A/N: Ok sorry... this is uber short, but I just felt so terrible that I haven't put anything up in forever. I've just been ridiculously busy lately, and a lot of stuff has happened that has taken priority. So I'm working on another chapter that's longer and better and less blah then this one, but hopefully you enjoyed this all the same. **


	12. Insight

_Chapter 12: Insight_

_OoOoO_

_At least it wasn't Jim this time._

Leonard knows that he should really be concerned for himself and Uhura at the moment, but the brightest side of this shit hole of a situation is that Jim Trouble-Magnet Kirk isn't injured (yet again). No, instead it was him and Uhura who were stuck in this ditch with nothing to do but wait for help.

Sighing, Leonard leaned his head back against the wall and watched the scowling profile of Lieutenant Uhura as she paced the other half of the ditch.

"We could try climb—"

"It won't work," Leonard grunted, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Uhura turned her pretty face to him, eyes narrowed in a glare that had Leonard wanting to check and see if it was possible to be castrated with a look. Instead, he scowled back.

Huffing, Uhura resumed her pacing. "How long do you think it will take him?"

"I'm the doctor," snapped Leonard, "not the Vulcan."

She snorted derisively. "That's for sure."

Leonard chose not to comment.

Uhura continued pacing, her eyes narrowed and voice low as she muttered—no doubt unladylike things. Her feet kicked up dirt and the dust settled onto her boots to paint them a dull rusty color.

"You might as well sit down," Leonard grunted, rolling his eyes.

Instead of responding to him, Uhura paused her pacing and frowned contemplatively at the high walls of the steep ditch they had fallen into while being chased by some local beast.

This mission was supposed to have been simple—send down Uhura as a translator and Leonard for medical help, and the colonists would receive the vaccine they needed for the sudden outbreak of Influenza H1N1. Really, it was so simple a task Jim hadn't even bothered insisting on coming down with them like he usually would.

Once they had beamed to the surface, they had been greeted by a welcoming party of the colony governor and some of his men. Dekker was a desert planet for the most part, though not to the extreme heat that one would expect. The people, humans that had left Earth a hundred years ago to create a place for their culture to thrive, lived in dome-shaped houses all built closely together, like pockmarks on the smooth surface of the planet. They were friendly enough, and the distribution was orderly.

Leonard, through Uhura's translations, bade goodbye to the governor and his people, and the two had taken leave.

Something about the sand was affecting the transporter beams, though, so the pair had been forced to walk further from the settlement in order to be beamed back aboard.

As they went, Uhura had suddenly grabbed his arm.

"_Do you feel that?"_

_Frowning, Leonard paused his shuffling steps—he wanted to get off of this miserable planet and get back to the cool air of the Enterprise. Then, he felt it; a shifting vibration beneath their feet. "What the…?"_

_Uhura tugged at him. "I think something is coming."_

"_Something?" Leonard shook his head, "That doesn't necessarily mean—"_

"_It's that or an earthquake," Uhura insisted, "neither of which are good."_

_Nodding, Leonard conceded the point. _

"_What do we do?"_

_Just as he said it, the vibrations grew more violent. Both turned to be faced with the fast-approaching figure of a huge animal. It looked like a reptilian bear, and its impressive bulk was lined through-and-through with muscle. _

"_Run." Uhura gasped, and they both turned and did exactly that. _

_Panting, and desperately wishing he had held himself as accountable for fitness as he did for Jim, Leonard pushed himself further and faster. _

_The beast was gaining on them. Leonard could practically feel it breathing down his throat. Both officers, panting in exhaustion and panic, pushed their legs faster. The ground pounded hard beneath the souls of their boots._

_And then suddenly it wasn't there._

_They fell._

"I think it's gone," Uhura said, shaking Leonard from his reverie. Just as she said it, they heard a loud huff of breath and rubble tumbled down into their steep gully. Luckily, the ditch was much too slender for the bulky beast to fit into, so they were more or less safe as long as they remained inside. The only problem was that unless the sand that had gathered high in the atmosphere stopped messing with the transporters in this area, they were stuck.

Finally, Uhura let out a deep sigh and sat against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her.

Leonard tilted his head back and let his eyes fall closed. He was tired—partially from the chase and partly from the series of long days he had had in sickbay lately. Yearly physicals were due for the entire crew, and all had to be approved by the CMO before being sent off to Starfleet.

"How long do you think we'll be stuck here?"

Rarely one to be optimistic, Leonard groaned. "Hours, maybe. At least until the atmosphere or whatever is causing the transporter to not work is settled." He scowled—you could just never trust technology.

Uhura frowned, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "That long?"

"Maybe," nodded Leonard, "And maybe Jim'll figure out we're stuck and Scotty'll come up with some idea to get us the hell out of here soon."

There was a pause.

"You're good friends with Jim, huh?"

Something in her voice made him uneasy, and Leonard opened his eyes to watch her as he answered. "Yeah, the _Captain _and I are friends," emphasizing Jim's title.

"I don't—" she frowned. "I don't understand him."

"He's complicated," Leonard agreed.

"No. I mean I don't understand how he became captain of the Enterprise."

He grimaced. "He's a damn good captain, far as I can tell."

"It's not that I think he's bad," she backpedalled, "it's just that he's a little _young _to be captaining such a large ship."

"The whole crew is young," he pointed out.

"Yes, but he's the _captain._ Shouldn't he have some experience on a starship? Rather than be rewarded for one performance?" She seemed relieved to finally release thoughts that had probably been chasing her for months now.

Still, though, Leonard was Jim's friend and Jim was his captain, to top it all off, and he wouldn't stand for this sort of questioning of the man. "He saved Earth. Has Jim not been there, we'd all likely be dead."

"I know," she ground out, grasping for the words to express what she wanted without conveying something offensive to her companion, "It's just—he just—he's just a farmboy from Iowa riding through the ranks."

Wow. Lacking in tact? Leonard gave her a surly glare. "You've got plenty to learn," he grunted, "people don't become captains of flagships by riding through the ranks."

"I know that," she grunted, rubbing her slim fingers across the bridge of her nose, looking tired and frustrated.

"Why did you agree to be his communications officer if you don't think he deserves to be captain?"

Staring at him a moment, Uhura decided to answer. "I'm the Enterprise's communication officer, not Kirk's."

"Sorry to break it to ya," Leonard sighed, "but Jim _is _the Enterprise."

Uhura frowned and looked like she was about to say something more when one of the previously-though-broken communicators sparked to life.

"_Enterprise to McCoy."_

Bones pulled him communicator free and flipped it open. "McCoy here."

"_Doctor," _it was Scotty's voice crackling over the speaker now, _"We've almost got a lock on you. Can't you move just a wee bit west?"_

"No go, Scotty," Leonard replied, "We're a little stuck."

"_I suppose this'll have to do, then."_

"Two to beam up," he said in agreement.

They were enveloped.

Moments later, they both appeared on the transporter pad, healthy and in one piece, if not a little worse for wear.

Jim and Scotty both were in the room, the former eyeing them oddly. "This was supposed to be a simple mission," Jim chuckled, "What the Hell happened?"

Leonard scowled, "Hell if I know. Got chased by some damn bear-lizard."

"A bear lizard?" Jim raised one eyebrow, and he and Scotty shared a look.

"Yes," he grunted, shooting a glance at the still-frowning Uhura, though she seemed more thoughtful than affronted now. "Now, if you don't mind, Jim." He indicated the door.

Jim grinned, a winning flash of neat teeth, and moved aside. "And here I thought I was the one who always got into trouble when there is none to be had. Let me walk you two to sickbay."

Leonard rolled his eyes and agreed, brushing past his friend and ignoring his low chuckle.

OoOoO

Nyota was hanging around sickbay impatiently. Christine Chapel, the Head Nurse, had become good friends with Nyota since their deployment, and they often ate dinner together. Tonight was one such evening, but Christine's shift was running late and Nyota regretting slightly offering to wait for her friend rather than meeting her in the mess.

A familiar and not-so-pleasing voice drifted from the Dr. McCoy's office and Nyota frowned, eyeing the clock and tapping her fingers impatiently against her opposite arm. She did not want to be standing here when Kirk came out.

Shortly after, Christine's voice could be heard as she emerged from the CMO's office, laughing about whatever had just occurred and waving at the men inside. She turned and spotted Nyota, her face twisting in an apologetic expression, as she hurriedly tapped onto her datapad that she was off, and then locked it away.

"I'm so sorry!" she gasped, linking her arm through her friends and turning them towards the exit, "The paperwork just caught up to me I guess." Christine smiled sheepishly and pressed the button on the turbolift that would take them to the mess. "And then as I was turning it all in, McCoy and the Captain were arguing over something and tried to convince me to break the stalemate… but enough about that. Time for food!"

Nyota couldn't help herself, and she grinned at her friend and met her stride as they passed quickly through the halls and into the mess, collecting their trays of food. They sat at a mostly empty table, the hall having cleared largely due to the late hour.

A few minutes later, the doors to the mess opened again and in stepped Dr. McCoy and the Captain, the former appearing to have fleeting interest while the latter chattered on about something. They collected their food and, spotting the two women, came and sat down at their table.

"… think it will increase efficiency by seventeen percent. If we could just figure out what's wrong with that generator, we'd be saving ourselves a whole lot of hassle and keeping that excess for more crucial times."

McCoy grunted, shrugging one shoulder as he set down his food. "Sounds great, Jim, but I don't know why the hell you're telling me about this. 'Lo Christine, Lieutenant."

Christine smiled at him around her bite of food, raising a hand in greeting to Kirk as well. Nyota nodded to them both, "Captain, Doctor."

Kirk had grinned at both women and was now focused again on his friend, "I thought you would be interested because it will increase the efficiency of the _entire_ ship, including sickbay, once we've figured that out. It's amazing, I really think Scotty has something here."

As Nyota watched them, absently interested in the conversation, she noticed the doctor deliver a not-so-subtle kick to his friend and indicate his plate, which Kirk promptly began to shove down between words.

Satisfied, McCoy focused on his own food, letting Jim ramble on until their plates were clear.

Nyota and Christine, who had been carrying on their own conversation, barely looked up as Kirk stuffed the last bite of food into his mouth and abruptly ended the conversation with his friend, claiming he had to work on some project and fleeing the room.

"Damn kid," McCoy grunted, swallowing down his own food before standing and bidding the two women goodnight.

OoOoO

Night time on the _Enterprise _was always quiet. The men and women who worked the graveyard shifts were generally less chatty and lively than the day shift, due in part to the hour and in part to the hush that felt necessary so late into the night, even if outside it looked the same as it always did.

Occasionally, on those nights Nyota felt restless and needed to burn enough energy that her mind would allow her sleep, she would wander through the silent halls and breathe the recycled air, trying to picture herself on Earth, allowing herself a moment of weakness and homesickness. She missed her family—her mother and father, her aunts and uncles and their children—and while at most times the knowledge that she was fulfilling her dream and, in the process, protecting her family and her planet kept her from being too distressed about it, the quiet of the nighttime life support's hum made her feel childish and sad.

It was lonely, all the way out here in space.

Her footsteps echoed softly in the corridor, pausing slightly as she turned and entered the observation deck. As she moved to the window, thinking of her youngest cousin, Samira, who had laid out at night with Nyota on their leave after the _Narada _and watched the stars, it took her a moment to realize that she was not alone in her sleeplessness.

"Captain," she stumbled, somewhat startled.

"Jim," he corrected, then huffed a short laugh, "Or Kirk, if you like. Just not Captain—we're off duty."

Not sure how to respond, Nyota did not reply to his request. Instead, "What are you doing here?"

He looked at her with a funny smile on his face, only half illuminated by the faint runner lights along the edge of the room, and answered. "Same as you, I guess; looking at the stars."

Instead of saying something, Nyota turned to the glass, noting that after a moment he did as well.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for minutes that felt far too long.

A small puff of laughter against the window broke the hush. Nyota looked over at Kirk, her brow creasing at his grin.

He looked at her and shrugged, "I was just thinking how odd it is that we're here."

There was something in his tone… some note to it that rung a little too personal, but Nyota, with all her linguistics, could not identify its source, so she chose to take the statement at its face. "Here?"

"In space, On the _Enterprise_," Kirk spread his arms briefly before dropping them back to his sides, "here."

Nodding slowly, Nyota shrugged. "I guess so."

Kirk said nothing more.

After a moment, Nyota looked once again at her companion. "Are you alright, Captain?"

Turning to smile at her, Kirk nodded. "Just a little restless. And I trust you are alright yourself?"

"Just fine, sir."

They shared a brief moment of humor, because being up and about at three in the morning rarely indicated 'just fine', but it was short, and in moments that had lapsed once again into awkward silence.

"Time moves slowly at night," Kirk said so quietly it was almost a whisper, "Everything is quiet— almost like being stuck between minutes."

They breathed into the silence for a time, possible formal conversation subsiding into the dull and steady white noise of the air ducts.

Nyota felt her eyes grow heavy and stepped from the window. As she pressed the release for the door, she did not turn. "Good night, Captain."

"Good night, Lieutenant."

The door closed just as she turned, her eyes caught a glimpse of the somber man staring into the abyss, pondering something in the silence of the dead hours of the starship before all she saw was sterile white.

**OoOoO**

**A/N: Ok, so I totally was not planning on finishing this tonight, but then I got a review (thank you! You totally made my day) so I am, instead of accomplishing one of the many things that are causing me unlimited amounts of stress, writing this one shot that I'm not sure should be placed in this bunch or on its own and it actually absurdly long. **

**Anyhow, I love all of you wonderful readers and would absolutely adore it if you would review! I am super stressed as of late (thus the drought of posts) and reviews make me "squeeee" for long enough that I get a break from that stress. **

**Much love to you all!**


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